Lindsay
Meltzer's writing reminds me of a Hallmark movie (ironic?). If you can get past some of the cheesiness, it can give you nice feelings.
This one was a bit of a stretch for me. The motivations of the characters seemed trivial and contrived (summer camp rivalries from more than a decade ago, desperately needing a Matzah Ball ticket for inspiration, etc).
Also, I don't know when the phrase became “crashing symbols” (Chapter 10) but for some reason I doubt that would be as loud as “crashing cymbals”!
For me, the biggest takeaway from this book is the idea that households (partners) should focus more on splitting REST more equally, and let the chips (work) fall where it may. Most times, we are obsessed with making sure that we are doing equal amounts of work, and that leaves one or more people chronically tired and constantly falling further behind, becoming more irritated, and resentful. The shift to prioritizing rest, and then tackling the tasks that are most important to making our lives easier and more functional will lead to improved mindsets. I also appreciated the author's specific outlining of what counts as rest or freedom from responsibility, and what does not. Time to yourself is not necessarily rest if you are “on call”.
Another thing this book did a good job of was stating that it is okay to not do it all. Many other books in this realm try to solve the problem of not doing it all (i.e. it's okay that you don't do it all, because now you have my book; here's how to do it all), but I found this book stopped after saying it is okay. There is a very basic guide for how to improve the situation (gather trash, gather dishes, gather laundry, gather misplaced items, action the four previous steps), but the author acknowledges you may still have a mess on your hands after; and, she reiterates that it's okay.
The focus on mental health, no matter the physical state of your environment, is usually absent or a footnote in other books; it was nice to see the spotlight on it, here.
This is like the junior version of “Gone Girl”. Both Logan and Delilah are a bit unhinged.
I'm not sure if it was meant to be predictable, but it was obvious from very early on that Delilah is part of the drug dealing shenanigans at Draycott.
Loose plot thread: whatever happened to the neighbour's garage camera footage? What was the point of Mendez poking around?
Sutanto gets around any potential plot holes by ending the book before any repercussions can play out, but if we (the readers) had been able to stick around a while longer, I think the whole story would have unravelled.
I went into this book wanting to root for the bad guy, but ended up cheering for no one. The good, the bad, and everyone in between seemed like shadow characters, doing what they were expected to do, with no true motivation.
The gang of henches believes that being on the anti-hero's team is a more honest living, and fighting in the name of good and morality is just delusional. Even if Anna supposedly has math and spreadsheets to back up her argument, it doesn't hold up to scrutiny. She, herself, is the cause of pain, destruction, and damage, but she isn't accountable for it in her mind.
There is a lot of telling, and not a lot of showing. Case in point, there are multiple ways in which the author creates once-removed ways of telling the story, instead of bringing us into the action (e.g. the reporter angle, the surveillance “eggs”). The author really leans into the cartoon-y evil caricatures: I mean, most of Anna's relationships are built on evil giggles.
The best way I can describe the reading experience is that the author was trying to be theatrical and over-the-top funny / scathing / witty - but I either had to (metaphorically) force my laughter, or I didn't laugh at all .
So, this is basically The Girl on the Train... on a boat.
There are too many throwaway red herrings that are not explained. Perhaps the most unbelievable part is that Lo and/or her colleague and ex-boyfriend, Ben, are aspiring “investigative journalists”. I don't think these two could find their way out of a paper bag (after Lo has imbibed whatever alcohol was in said bag).
Only one way to read this one: suspend your disbelief and don't think about the answers you're given.
Atmospherically, I can understand the comparison to Jane Harper; but the clunky writing and two-dimensional characters prevented me from being sucked into Nalini Singh's A Madness of Sunshine. The inhabitants of Golden Cove are cardboard cutouts and it seems like there are no good men in this place - almost all of them are given shady pasts or are of questionable character, and there's even a two-for-one deal on psychopaths.
Singh does a good job of creating small-town-New-Zealand ambiance and the ominous feeling of living so close to a harsh and unforgiving wilderness in a remote location. Unfortunately, I just didn't care about any of the people she wrote into the setting.
I can't say that I feel like I know much more about Matthew Perry after reading his memoir, than I did before reading it.
The basics: He made millions of dollars doing Friends, tried to turn that success into a movie career, all while being drug-addled, feeling inadequate, and self-sabotaging his relationships.
The cycle of addiction/detox/pain management recurring throughout this memoir, along with some jumping in the timeline, made it difficult for me to keep straight what events happened and when they were taking place. The haziness may be apropos, given the stupor Perry seems to permanently exist within; the writing ebbs and flows between precision and vagueness, and never lands in a comfortable middleground for any extended amount of time. This strange cadence expresses itself in the way Perry presents certain individuals on the page. For example, names range from what feels like very formal first-and-last-name mentions (“Jamie Tarses”), to the cloak-and-daggers never-identified-in-the-book “woman I dated for six years” (Google will tell you this is most likely Lizzie Caplan); only a few people receive the typical first-name-only treatment. That, along with Perry's use of the term “geographic” (What does he mean? Who told him he could use that word in that way?) throughout, is a little jarring
Perry talks about the movie “Groundhog Day” and that's kind of what his book feels like: another chapter, another time he almost succumbed to and lost everything to his addiction. The book itself is quite dreary; there's not a whole lot of uplifting, positive experiences showcased here, which is fine (not everyone's life is golden). I guess I just thought there might be something more.
I'm still a Matthew Perry fan; I hope he finds solace/hope/happiness; I hope his book was cathartic for him, even if it was a bit of a downer for me.
The same things that either thrilled or annoyed you in Under One Roof and Stuck With You will come up again in Below Zero because it feels like they are all the same book, with the same underdeveloped stock characters.
Awkward, petite blonde/brunette/redhead American student or recent grad in the science and technology field? Check. Large blond/brunette Viking-like man of few words but who knows just how to make his love interest weak at the knees? Check. Lightning fast feelings of undying love, and then self-made obstacles that keep the characters apart until a revelation at the end (NON-SPOILER: It was all just a misunderstanding). Check, check, check.
As others have said, it seems that so far, Hazelwood only knows how to write one type of book... instead of three complementary novellas, it felt like I read the same story three times, just dressed up a little differently.
For me, I liked each book a fraction of a star more than the one preceding it; all were at least 1.5 stars below what I rated Hazelwood's full book, The Love Hypothesis.
Let's just say... Karen McManus does it better.
Actually, I still have more to say, but from the opening line, you know where this review is heading. Read on, if you are so inclined.I thought the editing was poor (see below, re: age inconsistencies), and the author writes to such effect that I felt like I was falling in and out of consciousness while reading the words on the page. A character is sitting in a chair, but in the next sentence, that characters is suddenly across the room. Did I black out? Did the character teleport? Goes back and rereads the last sentence Nope, didn't miss anything. Very disorienting and confusing.The author seemed to emphasize dates and ages, but none of them make any sense. Even more maddening is that these details don't make a difference to the story, so the fact that I'm so bothered by them rather than focused on the actual narrative, speaks volumes. For example, Monica is sixteen and Brandon is some number of years older than her... either 6, 8 or 11 years, per the various age references throughout the book. [For an example of bad math, see Chapter 5: “ ‘He [Jack] was twenty, and she was seventeen. [...]' Four years. The age difference between Brandon and me is twice that.” – actually, the initial difference stated is three years, and twice that is six. Mike Meija is either 22 or 27 (i.e. possibly the youngest cop EVER).Another quibble is that dogs in this book apparently blink in and out of existence, as needed to make the story work. Why was Mango MIA when Brandon forced his way into Monica's house? In other dog news, how did the cops overlook the dog from 5 years ago at the scene of the murder?My last point of contention about “The Cheerleaders” is that the characters are bland and interchangeable, and too many are characters of convenience. Some of these people are not too bright, including the town cops. Why would Brandon return to the scene (town) of the crime, and why would he get involved with the sister of one of the titular Cheerleaders? Are we supposed to accept the coincidence that he is/was Allie's boyfriend? What was Carly Amato's purpose? Monica's mom seems to underreact to her pregnancy and abortion, and overreact to her getting detention or other typical teenage infractions. Monica does some questionable things and none of the adults seem to be the wiser. I had to suspend my belief multiple times that everyone seemed so oblivious.
Unlike some of the other books on this topic that I have attempted to get into, this book was written in a very accessible way. The meal plan is laid out for you, and quite straightforward, and the recipes provided also seemed quite reasonable – it didn't feel like I needed to get a lot of specialty items to try any of them.
Whereas in other Tana French books, I felt like I was experiencing the story as it unfolded, in her fourth book, I felt like I was being read the police report by the main character, and being subject to his musings, interjections and personal commentary along the way. Despite the insights, it was rather dry. As others have pointed out, it also requires a suspension of disbelief.
To explain my one-star rating, allow me to quote from the book:
“She had spent far too much time researching and racking her brains to find some logical reason for a totally illogical experience. She could chalk those dreams of Cira up to one of life's mysteries and move on with reality. Yes, that was sensible.” (Johansen, 366).
Dialogue: unnatural
Characters: flat
Plot: far-fetched
Verdict: boring
A well-written first-person account of what it was like for a young girl to survive the Holocaust, detailing experiences that a textbook just glosses over.
Bitton-Jackson's I Have Lived a Thousand Years should be in every classroom, right alongside The Diary of Anne Frank. An important book that is accessible to audiences of all ages.
No one can make you donate a kidney... right? Apparently, that's not necessarily the case if you're 13 years old and not deemed mature enough to make your own decisions about whether or not you want to part with a bodily organ. That seems wrong to me, but I guess when it's a choice between risking and impacting your life (goodbye, contact sports) or potentially prolonging your terminally ill sister's life (if the surgery doesn't kill her), it's not so cut and dry. To separate the tangled web of conflicting best interests, a judge is appointed to determine who should have the final say over Anna's body.
This book has a pattern of not following through with consequences - The arsonist son is never caught, and eventually becomes a member of the police force. A judge rules in Anna's favour, but Anna never gets the opportunity to use her autonomy since she is declared brain dead after a car crash immediately following the verdict. - and that is the main disappointment with this book: that it does not let any of the characters take responsibility for any of the choices they make.
